Duet
by Hikari of the Moon
Summary: Before Kate and New York, Neal decides to steal The Concert. Too bad he's not the only grifter with eyes on that prize.


Beta: sparklyshimmer2010, who not only helped with grammar and flow, but also with artistic accuracy.  
>Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage, White Collar, the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, or any painting mentioned or alluded to below.<br>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vermeer, although not as well known as his Baroque compatriot Rembrandt, was a brilliant painter with a naturalistic style and penchant for painting scenes that were from daily life. So while the upper-crust were being enchanted out of their millions with Rembrandt and Michelangelo, Neal was going to take Vermeer's 1664 painting _The Concert_ out for a little stroll in the garden.

It was being displayed at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, and after months of planning, Neal had figured out his plan of attack. Charm the guards enough at the museum's big donor fundraising night to get in, sneak into the vault where it would be stored, and steal the painting while everyone was distracted with the other paintings. His exit strategy was less nuanced, as it amounted to hiding the painting in a large artist's briefcase, which he hoped wouldn't make him stand out too much. He would be in an artsy space, so maybe it would work. He didn't have the time or resources to come up with anything better. Neal had continued lifting a few things here and there to keep in shape while he came up with this plan. Even a thief had to practice. And just spending time staking out a place could get even the best thief caught.

New technology made the task hard, but Neal went by the museum every week or so on different days, watching guard routes, noticing security cameras, and jotting them all down in such a way that the average observer would assume he was sketching. Nothing with a definite shape though—Neal loved puzzles but not enough to interfere with his work by encoding the notes too much—no, his sketch was non-representational art, aimed at shattering the boundaries of modern expression.

And by that point in his monologue, even the most suspicious guard would get bored and leave him be.

Guard patterns, Neal had noticed, were actually less numerous on special days. More were stationed at the exits. Well that was fine with him. It just meant the job would be easier once he got in. The night he planned to steal _The Concert_, the museum was lit spectacularly for the donor's night. Even from the outside, it was an impressive building, and the lanterns lighting the exterior made for a beautiful style. Neal, dressed in the best suit he could buy with the cash he had leftover from fenced goods after his many museum admissions, strode up to the front door, comfortably timed to be just before the rush of the "fashionably late" but not early enough to stand out. He walked past a man who seemed deeply engaged in a conversation with a hot young thing and swiped the invitation from his jacket pocket. As he approached the entrance, he flashed his most disarming smile at the guards.

"Excuse me, sirs." He quickly checked the name on the invitation as he presented it to them. "Lovely evening, isn't it?"

The guards gave him a dismissive look as they checked his name off the list. He strolled inside and looked around the museum he had been visiting for weeks, transformed for the engagement. The halls were dimly lit, odd for most museums, but this one chose to keep its light levels down to make it more intimate. There were some fairy lights strung up out of the way near the ceiling to brighten it up some for the big day. Shadows were cast about wildly, obscuring some of the art when people stood in the wrong spot, but some donors were too entranced by the look to care if the art couldn't be seen easily. He walked out into the central courtyard, unhurried. Unlike the hallways, the courtyard was well-lit, its glass ceiling unable to block out the city light. This served more to its benefit, though, as it was the space for mingling, refreshments, and admiration of nature. Not that the last point would be advertised, but Neal saw it as the most important aspect of the space.

He lingered near the refreshment table and smiled at a woman who came to get a drink. "This really is a magical night, isn't it?"

The brunette looked up and smiled a little. "You think so?" Her voice had just the slightest accent to it, but Neal couldn't place exactly where she could be from.

He nodded. "The lighting could be a little brighter inside, but it just makes the beauty stand out more once you notice it."

She looked contemplative and said, "It's brighter than it usually is."

"True, but it's not really enough. You lose some of the subtleties of the brushstrokes."

"You do," she added, "but the atmosphere makes it more likely that you'd stay on one painting. If you just skip from painting to painting, you don't get as much out of them. So if it makes it harder to immediately see the intricacies but you look at it for longer, it evens out."

Neal laughed softly. "You really know your stuff," he said as he held out his hand to her. "Jacob Anderson." He hoped fervently that she didn't know the real Mr. Anderson.

"Maggie Ford," she answered, shaking his hand, "and it is a pleasure to meet you."

They talked for a while longer as the party grew more crowded. He learned to his displeasure that she was married, but she was well-informed on painting authentication and he gleaned a few new ideas for his forgeries. At last, he knew it was time for him to part company.

"Maggie, this has been wonderful, but I can't take all of your time tonight, as much as I'd like to."

She had been smiling from the easy conversation, but she looked a little saddened by the conversation's sudden ending. "Well, I hope you have a good time tonight as well."

He worked to keep his charm up and his anticipation off his face. "Oh, I plan to."

Neal weaved through the crowd away from the table, looking over his shoulder and smiling slightly as Maggie began chatting up one of the museum directors. He stopped to chat up a few other people, being careful to only use his stolen name when he absolutely had to. The night grew longer, and as it did, the guards started to linger more in the courtyard where the food was and less in the hallways.

He headed for one of those hallways on the far end of the building and idled in front of a painting which, now that he thought about it, might be a forgery, but was definitely in a blind spot of the security cameras. Shortly after he got there, two guards came out of a restricted-area room. Neal watched them go, then, avoiding the cameras' arcs, darted through the door before it could close and re-lock. Thankful that no other guards were there at the moment, he moved across the room and down the stairs to the vault door.

It was already open.

It was one of the most secure doors in all of America, leading to billions of dollars of "priceless" artwork, and it was already open.

Neal knew there were two reasons it could be open. The first was that someone from the museum had come to check up on something or bring something out. In that case, he was just a flash of a smile and a flimsy excuse away from freedom, but out one painting, not to mention how much he'd spent on museum admission preparing for tonight.

The second reason…

The second reason was that he may not have been the only person to decide the fundraiser was the perfect chance to rob the place. Which, depending on the thief or thieves, could end up with him getting exactly what he wanted, or shot.

No risk, no reward. He walked into the vault.

And saw Maggie Ford standing there, gloves on her hands, holding _The Concert_.

"Excellent choice, that's exactly what I was here for," he said, a tad bitterly. Thinking on his feet usually ended in disaster, but he'd been charming her pretty well outside. He knew if he played his cards right, he could still get his prize. A quick double-cross wouldn't take too long. And he was pretty sure she didn't have a gun, at least, not one that he noticed before.

She turned quickly, obviously surprised someone else was there. "Oh, Jacob…" A moment passed, then she smiled mysteriously and said, "I'm taking this, but you can grab a smaller piece."

He nodded and looked around, pretending to accept the consolation prize of a different painting. The vault had many paintings he could sell on the black market, provided he got a good enough fence. He noticed a Manet of a man in a top hat hanging above the unconscious museum director that he was pretty sure he could reproduce given the time and enough money for equipment. That plus _The Concert_ would be a very sweet haul.

He then looked down and actually noticed said unconscious museum director. Well. That explained how she got in the vault. "So Maggie-"

"Maggie is just my cover for this job. Call me Sophie. Sophie Devereaux."

Oh. Ohhhhhh. Even Neal knew who Sophie was, although only from rumors on the street, ripples of information about a major force. Sophie Devereaux, one of the most talented grifters in the world. The short con was her stage, and she was one hell of an actress. He had no shot at a double-cross, at least not if he didn't want her on his tail trying to take it back.

"Sophie. Are you really married then?"

She laughed, as if she found the idea genuinely funny. "I'm not. But I'm also not interested."

Neal didn't feel too hurt by that. The prospect of selling multiple copies of the Manet was cheering him up, although losing the chance to take that Vermeer stung. A lot. "Shame. We could pull wonderful cons together."

"I work alone. Now come along, you're too young to get thrown in jail."

Neal snuck out of the museum with Sophie, his haul much smaller than hers. She had an actual escape plan set up: the classic unmarked van parked in the loading dock. Despite his setback, the heist was still worth it. If his forgeries sold well and he didn't get caught, he would earn more than a few contacts. And maybe even enough money to finally get to New York City….

(~~~)

Years later, Neal met a man named Nate Ford, and found Sophie standing by his side.

"Hey Sophie, do you remember that heist we pulled together? You went by Maggie Ford and we st-"

Nate interrupted him to glare at Sophie, "You used my wife's name on a con?"

"Ex-wife, Nate!"

Neal smiled slyly. Their arguing was music to his ears. A concert of vengeance. Vengeance for losing _The Concert_. Same thing.

He wondered if Mozzie could distract Peter long enough for him to steal it back.


End file.
